


A Night by the Operating Theater

by XmagicalX (Xparrot)



Category: Gargoyles, Highlander: The Series, The Sentinel, The X-Files
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Hospital, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-09-26
Updated: 1998-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-04 00:17:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/XmagicalX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Occasionally cities can be quiet, calm, peaceful. Then there are nights like these...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night by the Operating Theater

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Not only am I making no money, but none of them belong to me except Doc Zimmer. The rest are the property of *deep breath* Disney, 10-13 Productions, Pet Fly Productions, and Rysher. In addition I parodied the title off a Marx Bros. movie and a few references to other things might sneak in. Please don't sue, please do enjoy!

The night was dark, cold, and wet with rain, and through the shadows screamed the monster. They found it on the rooftop.

Or rather it found them.

"Freeze!" the FBI agent shouted, brandishing his Glock, but when the creature turned its glowing white eyes onto him he realized his mistake. It advanced with the slow, dangerous pacing of a jungle cat. He fired once over its head but it didn't flinch; then a second time straight at its eyes, but if the bullet hit home it didn't acknowledge it. With a fatalistic sense of doom the man's hands began to shake, throwing off the aim of the third and fourth shot, and the beast crouched to spring...

"Yah!" cried a human voice. "Over here!" At the far end of the rooftop a barrel rattled, kicked aside. Distracted, the monster turned toward the noise, and swiftly as humanly possible the agent slid out from under the lantern eyes, heading toward the sound. The other man didn't have a gun, he knew, and while the weapon hadn't proved to be terribly useful it had to be better than nothing. He aimed and fired a fifth time, and perhaps the beast jerked in response to being hit—or perhaps not; in the darkness it was hard to tell.

In helpless horror he watched as the creature launched toward its prey, clawed talons wide, leathery wings spread, and the other man cried out, this time not as distraction but in unconscious terror. His eyes were wide enough that even from this distance the agent could see them shine blue in the moonlight, and then they were blotted out by the beast's airborne bulk—

Suddenly another form interceded, from the sky a living missile crashed into the creature's side, knocking it away from its target. With a crescendoing orchestra of screeches and growls and terrible animalistic screams the two beings fought, bat wings flapping, claws ripping, tails thrashing. The newcomer was brick red against the monster's blackness, and scarlet blood was starting to flow from both.

Avoiding the rolling, struggling creatures the agent continued toward the other man crouched on the roof. He saw the other shaking his long hair from his eyes and risked calling out, "You okay?"

"Yeah—" Shouldn't have done that. Abruptly the black monster tossed its opponent aside and pinpointed the speaker, pouncing again. Desperately the man tried to dodge, but the only thing that saved him from being ripped apart by the beast's fangs was the renewed attack of the other creature. The impact of the strike still knocked the man back.

Over the edge of the building.

The agent charged forward, managing just barely to snag the other's wrist before he lost his grip, but before he could even register this the warring ball of monsters slammed into him, throwing him off balance and over the edge, and they both were falling—

Their respective partners made it up the stairs to the roof at the precise instant to see the two tumble off. The stormy night echoed the man shouting, "Blair!" and over it the woman's scream, "Mulder!"

Lightning flashed, illuminating their rain-wet faces, flickering through both pairs of ice-blue eyes, and glistening on the sleek leather skin of the monsters as they plunged off the rooftop, still intent on their mortal struggle. It sparked along the silvery sheen of a metal blade wielded on the street below, and then the thunder crashed.

The man still on the roof winced even as he dashed to the edge, the woman at his side, When they peered over they were blinded by another bolt of lightning, this one so close it possibly might have hit the block around them. They blinked away indigo afterimages, and by the time their vision cleared it was over.

 

* * *

Dr. Julian Zimmer looked around the bustling emergency room of Cascade General and sighed. Foggy, rainy nights were some of the worst in terms of auto accidents, topped only by New Year's Eve and nights with sleet. At least they didn't have to worry about hypothermia. And so far not one critical patient had been brought in; only minor injuries, bruises, bumps, a broken index finger—most of the people had been more worried about the state of their cars than their personal health.

For him it was a downright easy night, so he should have been relaxed. Maybe he could even find the time to write a letter back to Doug; they had been keeping up studiously for years now, even if they rarely met in person much they had so much in common to tell each other; anecdotes of their experiences in the hospitals of their cities. He should be getting a nice long caffeine break with this easygoing a crowd...

So why did he have this sinking premonition that he wasn't going to have a chance to more than gulp his coffee?

Dr. Zimmer's instincts hadn't been wrong for so long that most of the ER was half-convinced he was psychic. Which is why they had been watching him like hawks tonight, and why none of them were especially surprised when the urgent call came in.

But not one of them, not even Dr. Zimmer himself, was prepared for the chaos that poured through the doors a short time after that.

Twenty minutes later the doctor took a deep breath and stopped for a moment to survey the mess. Calm, Julian, he told himself, keep on top of this, it only _looks_ like it's all going to hell, just figure out who's injured and why and find a way to fix them...

"The two men who were brought in," he called to the room at large. Both unconscious, both had broken limbs and goodness knows what else, the two surgeons on staff were working it out. "What happened to them exactly, what's the nature of their injuries?"

"They fell off a building," a woman informed him helpfully.

"Ah. Thank you." He could ask later how exactly that happened. If he decided he wanted to know, which he wasn't sure about.

The woman's voice didn't stop. "How is he—how are they?" it demanded.

Dr. Zimmer turned, looked down to find the source of the voice and found her glaring up at him. "What are their vitals, what is the current prognosis?"

"Well, at this—"

"How are they doing?" pressed another voice, a man's this time, and Dr. Zimmer was forced again to turn, looking up this time to meet the man's eyes. At least it was someone he was vaguely familiar with.

"I'm sorry, detective, they just went in, it's too early to say—"

"I want to see him." Julian's head snapped from one to the other; the two had spoken simultaneously.

"You can't, they're both in surgery now—"

The woman's eyes flicked to the detective and back to the doctor. "Let us through," she commanded.

"I'm sorry." Dr. Zimmer tried ineffectively to push them aside. Hopelessly he entreated, "Detective, you know how this is, please let me go do my job."

The detective nodded but didn't budge from his stance by the operating theater, and the woman flashed a badge in front of his face. "I'm Agent Scully of the FBI," she stated, "and I want to see my partner."

"I'm sorry," he tried one final time, "only doctors can be allowed in the—"

"Very well; I've got an MD," the agent informed him briskly, and shoved by him before he could get out another word. She assured the man, "I'll check on Mr. Sandburg too, Detective," and she was past them. The doctor glanced at her retreating form briefly, wondering at the thus-proven truth of red-heads and Irish tempers, and gave it up as a lost cause.

He looked over to the detective, but the man was oblivious to his scrutiny, his attention focused in the direction of the operating theater, head cocked almost as if he were listening to something. What he possibly thought he could hear through the soundproofed walls was beyond Dr. Zimmer, but when he touched the detective's arm there was no response. He didn't appear to be bleeding or in pain, so for the moment the doctor passed him by and headed to the others in the ER.

Vision focused as it was on the floor he literally bumped into the man leaning against the wall. A powerful grip steadied him and he looked up—again; why was every man here tonight over six feet?—to meet brown eyes regarding him with perhaps a small degree of concern. "Are you all right?"

"Sorry, yes, I'm fine, I'm a doctor here—" And his medical instincts suddenly blared in his ear as he took a closer look at the man. His black trench coat was torn in several places, long fierce slashes in the heavy cloth, and the rims of them were damply reddish-brown. "You're hurt, let me look at that—" Taking the man's arm he tried to draw him to one of the stretchers, but he refused.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Dr. Zimmer told him forcefully, in his element. "Possibly you're in shock and not feeling the pain, but from the appearance of things you are seriously injured and you are going to be treated."

"Appearances are deceiving," replied the man calmly, his words thickened by a trace accent—Irish perhaps, or Scottish. Scottish, the doctor decided as he continued to speak. "I got a little scuffed up and my coat's ruined, but I myself am fine, I assure you. There are other people here who need help more." He gestured slightly to their surroundings. There were indeed others here, not just the various car accident victims but several with serious wounds and more with minor scratches. They were being handled by order of who was bleeding most, and Dr. Zimmer hoped they had enough personnel to handle them all.

"I was a medic once," the man said, "is there anything I can do to help?"

"Probably," Dr. Zimmer began, then looked back and realized how closely the parallel slashes on his coat resembled the injuries of the other patients. "But let me at least take a closer look—" He reached for the man's side but his hand was brushed away.

"Listen, if I was hurt like that, do you think I'd be standing up and walking?" he asked the doctor with a small smile.

Something about that smile sparked Dr. Zimmer's instincts. It appeared honest enough while at the same time it held secrets, as if it were reflecting some private joke. But the doctor couldn't help but agree with his logic. "Okay then, I'll see what you can do."

He approached the main desk and called to the woman who had crawled beneath it, searching for a dropped file, "Laurel?"

Laurel poked her head up, file in mouth, another in either hand, slapping them down on the desk and reaching for the computer, typing as she responded, "Yeah?"

"When you need an extra hand, grab that guy over there, he says he's got experience and I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. But get somebody to make him sign a form so we at least have an ID."

"Sure," Laurel said, glancing over to where he indicated, "which one?"

"The tall man in the black long coat, with the pony tail."

"Which one?" Laurel repeated.

About to berate her for not paying attention, Julian looked back, and damned if there weren't two men standing there that fit the description. "The one without the beard," he told her. It looked like the other was coming to find him anyway.

He met the new man halfway over and was immediately ushered toward the ER doors. He resisted. At least this one's coat was intact, but—"Where are you trying to take me?"

"Outside," snapped the man hurriedly.

"Are you injured? If you are not there are others—"

"Yes, there's others, there's one outside waiting in an ambulance," he was informed, "and I can't risk bringing this patient into the ER. Please come with me?" He phrased it like a question but his tone was closer to making it a command.

For some reason the ambulance wasn't in front of the ER where it should be but parked to the side on the curb. The driver was still behind the wheel, looking distinctly nervous, and Dr. Zimmer wondered as well why the lights has been shut off, except the emergency flashers to keep them from getting rammed.

The lights inside the vehicle were still on, but the doors were closed. When they were opened the two EMTs inside glanced up, eyes wide.

Dr. Zimmer ignored them. He was staring at his patient, suddenly grasping the need for secrecy.

A partial shove from behind sent him another step closer to the ambulance. "Get moving, he needs medical care," ordered the man.

"I'm a doctor," Julian hissed, nonetheless fascinated by the creature on the stretcher, "not a veterinarian!"

"And he's not an animal!" retorted the man.

Dr. Zimmer was almost ready to believe that. Problem was, he didn't think a robot could breathe so realistically, great gasping chokes laboriously drawing air into its lungs. And it was surely the best costuming job he had ever encountered...

Tentatively he reached out, placed his hand on the thick reddish skin of the muscled leg, avoiding the talons curled under the foot. The moment he made contact he knew it wasn't a costume. He drew back with a shocked gasp, only to come up against the solid wall of the man who had brought him here. "Can you help him?" Again, the tone turned the query into a demand, but he caught the note of worry under the coolness.

"I'll try, I suppose." It was his duty after all, though he didn't have the slightest idea what he was doing. Climbing into the ambulance he approached his patient, ducking around the wings—good God, real wings, long pinions with a living leather membrane stretched between, all hanging limp—and leaning down to examine the deep wounds slashing across the bare red chest. Scarlet blood, looking human enough, was being dammed back by temporary bandages and pressure packs, the work of the paramedics, who watched him now in dumbstruck silence. Obviously more than a little relieved to hand their task over to an actual medical doctor.

Above the long—nose? Beak? Over it the eyes were half-open, black pupils might have been dilated but he couldn't tell, not without an iris to compare them to. Pushing back errant strands of silver hair he felt for a pulse beneath an enormous pointed ear, and found one thumping weakly. Too fast? Too slow? What the hell was normal for a monster? At any rate it still was beating, and the creature was breathing, but the blood loss could not be healthy and neither could its wounds...

A sharp trill broke him from his reverie. The man, observing them from his position leaning against the ambulance doors, whipped a celphone from a coat pocket and answered it, eyes never leaving the doctor and patient. "Yes—Owen, you've heard? The five AM news? We were on?" He swore under his breath and continued talking. "Look, tell Elisa—she's there already?" He sighed. "Give her the phone."

From several feet away Dr. Zimmer could hear the tinny shouting that came over the line. The man waited for it to pass, then spoke fast. "Detective, it's under control, I'm doing—yes, whatever I can. Trust me, Detective Maza, I don't want—"

Another slight pause and he went on. "This had nothing to do with me, it was _them_ who wanted to investigate to begin with, you recall—yes, we found it, I'd have thought you'd guessed that. I don't know. I'm looking into it—no, this isn't about that. No research. We have to find out...It's dead now, was that clear? Well, yes, it's dead, completely...I don't know yet. I'm being honest. We don't know yet, I'm trying to find out, hold on—" He put the phone on pause and faced Dr. Zimmer. "What's the prognosis?"

Julian rocked back on his heels and scrubbed his face with his palms. "I don't know, I'm ignorant of the anatomy—"

"Do you think he'll make it to sunrise?"

Dr. Zimmer blinked at him confusedly. "What do you mean?"

"Will he live until dawn," the man said impatiently, and then more slowly, "Is he going to die before sunrise?" His brow was furrowed, and every word fell with a grim, weighty intensity that seemed all the darker compared to his laid-back tone before.

Julian had the unhappy impression that his life would not be easy if he gave the wrong answer, but not knowing what else to say he went with honesty. "He's not in good condition, that's obvious, but he's fighting hard—he should survive the next few hours. Chances are he'll live that long, but I can't say for how much after that—"

The man didn't seem to care. As soon as he heard that the creature would reach dawn his face brightened and he reactivated the celphone. "Elisa, Brooklyn's going to make it. He's hurt pretty bad but the doctor says he'll survive until the sun's up." Whatever the woman on the other end said, it made the man smile. "Yeah, good thing you're on East Coast time, I'm much more comfortable explaining this mess to Goliath after everyone's had a good day's rest.

"He was fighting with _it_, that's how...Like I said, I don't know exactly—imagine Bronx with wings and rabies...No master—I don't think, at least. I'll look into it....Believe me, it's dead. I don't care how hardy, it's not going to be attacking anybody else without a head. Yes, that's what I said, and yes, I'm planning to check that out too...When I have more, I'll tell you. I promise. Trust me...thank you." The man smiled again. "I mean it, detective. Elisa. Thank you. Can you put Owen on?"

He waited a minute and resumed speaking. "The conference is over, and Brooklyn's business here is done, so we'll be taking the next flight in tomorrow night. Book us two, first class—no, don't bother, if anybody throws a fit I'll cover it. Tell Fox and Alex—thanks, Owen." He disconnected and returned the celphone to his pocket. "Doctor, thank you for your help. You can return to your business inside, though I'll need these gentlemen here in case something comes up before dawn."

Dr. Zimmer nodded mutely; the paramedics exchanged glances but said nothing. Hopping out of the ambulance he headed back to the ER, but was halted by the man grabbing his arm. "One more thing, Doctor—don't mention this to everyone in there, the last thing we need is another panic."

Shaking off the grip, Julian glared at him angrily. "What makes you think you have the right to order me out here and then tell me to keep my mouth shut about what I just saw? You're not police, they're all inside and I know most of them, and you're not government or you would have pulled your ID, so who do you think you are?"

"David Xanatos," the man informed him smoothly.

Dr. Zimmer frowned, trying to place the vaguely familiar name. The man pointed inside the ambulance. "See that med-bot scanner?"

The doctor looked at the device, noting the stylized "X" logo on the side, then looked back at the man, suddenly remembering seeing his bearded face before, on the cover of Forbes, or had it been Time? Or maybe both?

The man Xanatos saw the comprehension flare in Dr. Zimmer's eyes and smiled, not a expression of happiness so much as the pleasure of a cat eyeing a mouse who has only just realized his position under the feline's paws. "Don't mention it, Doctor," he instructed again, and released him to return to the ambulance.

Shaking off the urge to gape again, Dr. Zimmer headed toward the ER without a backwards glance.

He almost collided with the man just inside the door, standing legs apart and arms crossed and with an glare that could make that being in the ambulance back down. Even through the glasses. Dr. Zimmer was even more intimidated by this presence because he recognized it, but managed to keep his cool. At this point of shock he doubted anything could faze him. "Good evening, Captain."

The captain frowned down at him. "Night, you mean. Morning, technically. What the hell happened? What's going on?"

"If I learn you'll be the first to know," the doctor assured him.

"I get reports of a monster attacking people coming out of a movie theater, I find out that half my force plus extra is out hunting this thing, and next I know everyone's at the ER. I don't like this kind of confusion."

"I don't care for it myself," Julian confessed.

"You must be Captain Banks." The female agent had apparently just emerged from the operating rooms, still with a paper gown over her suit and her red hair tied back clumsily.

"Yes," the man agreed, and Dr. Zimmer felt guiltily relieved to have the glare off him and aimed at her instead. "Have we—"

She extended her hand brusquely. "Dana Scully, FBI. We just got in this evening from Washington. Detective Ellison told us you had gotten off before we arrived—"

"I like to be here when my men are." He eyed the ER. "Which happens more often than it should. What's going on? Who's injured?"

"None of your officers," Scully reported, "but a police observer..?"

The captain winced. "Damn, not Sandburg. That kid..." He shook his head, "where is he? Where's his partner?"

"Mr. Sandburg's in surgery." The agent indicated the direction. "Detective Ellison is over there—"

The police captain headed over, the FBI agent at his side. Dr. Zimmer trailed after them, unsure where else he should go.

Detective Ellison was still standing in the same place and position as the doctor had left him, blank gaze still directed at the operating room door. "Jim," Captain Banks snapped.

The man made no response, didn't even blink when his captain repeated the summons. Frowning, Dr. Zimmer passed his hands before his eyes, got no response. Pupils contracted, respiration shallow and the doctor would bet his pulse was slowed. Looked like some form of catatonia, whether physiological or psychological he couldn't say, but he would have called for a nurse if the captain hadn't stopped him.

"No, hold on, I'll deal with it." Taking him by the arms he shook his man lightly. "Jim snap out of this, come on. You aren't helping Sandburg any by monitoring him like this, there's doctors watching Blair, they're going to make sure nothing happens. But don't do this, the kid's gonna kill me if something happens to _you_—Blair doesn't want this, come on now, Jim, quit it—"

With a gasp and a start the detective returned to life, inhaling deeply and shaking his head. "Man, sorry, Simon, I was just listening to his heartbe—" Suddenly perceiving the presence of the doctor and the agent he broke off. "Sorry," he started over, "it's been a trying night, I guess I was dozing off on my feet..."

Dr. Zimmer would have argued the truth of this had he had the time. As it was he only watched the man long enough to see he was sound and say, "I'll go check on your partners—"

"As far as I heard Mulder was out of danger—" Scully began.

"He is, and so is Sandburg," Ellison added with a brief smile.

"Good," Captain Banks said with a sharp nod, "now will one of you care to explain what the hell put them in there?"

Detective and agent exchanged glances. "We'll tell you when we know, sir," Ellison finally answered.

At his captain's growl he started to give more detail, but unfortunately Dr. Zimmer was called away at that moment to take a look at one of the other patients. He decided that stitches were unnecessary and assigned a nurse to clean and bandage the wound while he rendezvoused with Laurel at the main desk. "How's it going?"

Laurel wiped damp bangs out of her eyes. "It's slowing down at least. Oh, and Mr. MacLeod is wonderful—"

"Who?"

"The guy with the ponytail and without the beard. He's been terrific with the less urgent cases. Got the healing touch, I'd say."

"That's good."

"Yeah," Laurel continued, "I was thinking I could use some healing after tonight..."

Ignoring her prattle Dr. Zimmer started toward the man in question, seated by a middle aged woman holding some bloody gauze to her arm. It couldn't have been too serious, judging from her smile.

Before the doctor reached them he heard a quiet warble. MacLeod excused himself and drew off to the side, where he retrieved a celphone from his pocket. As he began to talk into it Dr. Zimmer took the place he had vacated next to the woman. "May I help you, ma'am?"

"Oh. Sure, doctor," though she gazed wistfully after MacLeod. Julian began tending to her, though his concentration was more in the direction of the man on the phone. He looked at the scratch on her arm, long but shallow, all the while listening intently to MacLeod's side of a conversation.

"Yeah, it's me, Joe. I'm in Cascade, yes. The hospital, I'm helping out. There was—oh. You know.

"Yeah, I took his head. He wasn't too dangerous. It was his pet—no, not a dog. This guy made Kanis look like Little Bo Peep. I don't know what it was; I've never seen anything like it. Maybe Adam...well, you didn't expect me to leave it running around, did you? It was trying to kill people! Worse without its master...

"I don't know if anyone saw me. Oh, his watcher did? I see. Yes, I took its head. I didn't know what else to do. No, I didn't think—police and FBI agents both shot it. Yeah, FBI. Federal Bureau of—how should I know? They were here. Anyhow it was bleeding from bullet holes and didn't even seem to be slowed down.

"I don't think it was immortal. I don't know. The watcher saw what? He didn't—it wasn't a Quickening, Joe. Believe me, I know a Quickening when I take one. It was lightning. It might have looked like one, but I've never heard of immortal animals and I don't think this was one. No, it was the storm. I took its head but not its Quickening.

"I didn't know how else to kill it. Like I said. I just followed four hundred years' worth of instincts, swung, and then it was dead. Which was better for all. No, it didn't kill anyone I don't think, but it was trying to. The worse—well, it knocked two men off a building. I think they survived. And there was something else fighting it—I guess it was another one, but it looked different, it moved differently. It might have been intelligent. I don't know what happened to it. I think it was helping; at any rate, it wasn't attacking.

"Okay, I'm going to be staying around for a couple more days. Make sure everything all right here and then I'll get back—Seacouver's only a couple of hours away. I'll stop by the bar then. I'll tell you what more I find out. If anything. Maybe you can dig up—thanks. Bye." The celphone returned to the depths of his coat. Dr. Zimmer arose to meet him but before he could take a step MacLeod was intercepted.

Apparently the doctor had not been the only eavesdropper. Sometime previously David Xanatos had re-entered the ER; now he introduced himself to MacLeod, who shook his hand with cold formality.

The man Xanatos was not in the least put off. "It sounds to me as if you could add to my understanding of what happened tonight. And perhaps help answer some other questions I have."

MacLeod eyed him suspiciously. "And how might that be?"

"I think you're more than what you seem, Mr. MacLeod. If you're willing to talk to me, I might clear up some things for you in return. You see, I know what that thing on the rooftop was, more or less—and I think you know who, and more importantly what, its master was. Because you're one yourself."

Dr. Zimmer was having a very hard time hearing and observing them without being noticed himself. His curiosity could not be quenched, however. Maybe if he kept listening to their cryptic discussion he could achieve some level of understanding...and for now at least they seemed unaware of his presence.

At Xanatos's words MacLeod drew back, brow lowered as he glared eye-to-eye with the other man. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean." Almost teasingly calm. Deliberately he raised his arms, pushing back the sleeves of his coat to reveal bare wrists.

MacLeod stared. "But you're not—how do you know?"

"I'll tell you that, too. Are you willing to talk?"

"What do you want?"

"To talk." The man shrugged. "And maybe some hints. You see, I'm interested in being what you are, and so I'm always interested in conversing with your kind."

"Why should I trust you?"

Another shrug. "Don't know. But I do have some knowledge you might find of interest. Also, I'm not a name-dropper normally, but I believe one of my acquaintances is a friend of yours. You're acquainted with an Adam Pierson?"

MacLeod's frown deepened. "How—"

"Or perhaps you know him by another name..."

MacLeod's eyes widened at that. "All right. I'll talk to you. A little, at least. But first, tell me how you know him."

"We're members of the same club." The man pointed to something on his coat's lapel, a little glittering pin. Some sort of red symbol; Dr. Zimmer was too distant to make out the details, but MacLeod appeared to recognize it. Still glowering, he followed Xanatos outside.

The doctor would have liked to continue after them, but he imagined they would see him if he was hanging around outside that ambulance where the creature lurked. Would Xanatos show MacLeod that being? Was that the explanation he had been implying?

With a phenomenal effort of will Dr. Zimmer returned to his duties. By dawn everyone in the ER had been tended to, some sent home, others given beds for further care. He acted as a good healer should and tried to forget most of what he'd overheard until he had the free time to ponder it in depth.

But it was difficult to break the habit of eavesdropping. Which meant that as he happened to be passing by Agent Mulder's room just as the man was awaking from surgery, he couldn't stop himself from pausing outside. Just for a moment.

"Hey." Could that quiet, calm little sound truly be the formidable Agent Scully?

"What happened?" Hard to identify anyone's voice rasping like that, but he imagined it was her partner's. "I feel like I got hit by a Mack truck." Definitely Mr. Mulder.

"Not quite. You fell off a building."

"Dammit, the creature—" The bed creaked, then a thump as he was pushed back down.

"Don't move. You managed to break about half your ribs."

"That explains the pain. Wait—how's that observer? He was falling—did—"

"He's fine. He's in the room next door and his partner's keeping watch. Little more banged up than you but he'll make full recovery faster, it looks like."

"O to be young again."

Amusement in her reply. "Senior agent, not senior citizen."

"Practice. So what happened? I'm guessing that since I survived and you're here that it's over with?"

"It's dead, at least." Scully sighed. "I don't know if you can say over with, exactly."

"How'd it get killed?"

"Decapitation."

"Someone beheaded it?" Even with his throat rough as it was, he squeaked.

"A man with a sword, believe it or not. I was too far away to see who, but...it was definitely a man. As opposed to that other winged thing that was fighting it..."

"This is incredible, Scully! I don't know if this is related, but Seacouver's not far north, and I have no less than six X-files of mysterious decapitated bodies found there. I was actually thinking since we were here we could take a look—"

"Before we do that, let's get this thing worked out, Mulder. Do you have any files of demons or dragons or whatever those creatures were? Wasn't it an acquaintance of yours who alerted us to these sightings?"

"Don't sound so doubtful. Detective Bluestone used to work for the Bureau; any report he'd make would be accurate." However the agent sounded put down. "But he brought this to my attention only in passing months ago, and whatever phenomenon he observed in NYC, there was no federal crime, thus no file. I'm definitely going to have to open one—do we have the body? Could you do an autopsy?"

"It'd be my pleasure, Mulder, except..." She hesitated. "Apparently someone has claimed the body for research, it's already been shipped."

"What! Who?"

"Not the government, I know what you're thinking. This was a private matter, according to the records—whoever it was, they had money. Someone paid enough to accomplish this very quickly."

"You think..?"

"I don't know."

Silence. Dr. Zimmer was about to continue on his way when she spoke again. "Anyhow, I think we should stay for a little while. There's more eye-witnesses around than you'd ever wish for, and there also is the matter of that other creature—it seems to have disappeared. Probably still alive, and it might be in Cascade yet. Besides, you need time to recuperate before you can get on a plane again."

A groan from Agent Mulder. "But it's not that bad?"

"You've had worse. According to Detective Ellison, so has Blair Sandburg—"

"Blair Sandburg?"

"The police observer? You did remember him?"

"Of course, I'm not amnesiac, Agent Dana Katherine Scully. I just hadn't heard his full name before. It's familiar—I wonder if it's the same. How many Blair Sandburgs are there at Rainier University, do you think?"

"Umm...I'm guessing just the one? It's not that common a name. Why?"

"I know him. Sort of. We never met in person, I was in e-mail correspondence with him a few years ago. The Lone Gunmen pointed me to him; he did some undergrad work with human mutations. I was looking for different perspectives on our old friend Eugene Tooms—remember him?"

"Mulder." Exasperation evident in her tone. "I don't have amnesia, either, I assure you."

"Yeah. Anyhow I wanted to know if he had any thoughts on where Tooms could have come from, and how..."

"Did he?"

"Not exactly. He's actually an anthropologist, not a biologist. Though he had some interesting ideas about Tooms's genetic advantages and how he had adapted them socially. As I recall that was his specialty, genetic advantages and society—he was studying something to do with hyperactive senses, he wanted to know if Tooms exhibited any sensory advantages, heightened hearing, smell, sight. I never got a chance to test that, though I would have liked to. Anyway, Sandburg impressed me as being very bright and knowledgeable about his field—a top scholar. Didn't expect to find him outside a university; I wonder how he ended up with the police."

A short pause before Agent Scully spoke. "Heightened senses, you said?"

"Yeah, his thesis was supposed to be on these people in tribal communities that worked as watchmen. He had a word for them, what was it? Not guard—Sentry, maybe? Something like that. I think he was looking for a modern equivalent."

"A modern sentry, someone with hyperactive senses? Such excellent eyesight or extraordinarily precise hearing?"

"Yes. I think. Why so curious?"

"It might be nothing." Scully's voice sounded slightly muffled, as if she was holding back laughter or maybe just keeping it quiet. "I think you might want to talk with Mr. Sandburg about this. And his partner. I had wondered how Detective Ellison spotted you two on that rooftop in the middle of the night..."

"Don't know if that counts as an X-file," her partner replied. "But it's definitely something we should look into...just in case."

Their conversation turned to other issues, mainly regarding how precisely they would explain this to their director and other Bureau-related matters, and Dr. Zimmer began to feel as if he was actively spying as opposed to overhearing, so he moved on. The next door he passed was that of Mr. Sandburg, who also had recently awakened, judging from what voices happened to slip beyond the door.

"What happened? It was beheaded? Man, you're not kidding?" The recuperative powers of that individual never failed to surprise Dr. Zimmer. Blair Sandburg could virtually bounce back from anything in the minimum allowed time. He'd probably be out of the hospital within two days.

Meanwhile, Dr. Zimmer also knew from experience, Detective Ellison would be constantly underfoot, with Captain Banks close at hand. They were both in there now, attempting to explain last night's events. "Did you see who did it, Jim?"

"I caught a glimpse. As I pointed out to Simon, the man was in the hospital last night."

"He was helping," Captain Banks added. "It didn't look like he was hurt. I'll find out who he was."

"What was _it_?" Sandburg demanded. "And why was it attacking people at random? Where'd it come from? Did you know there was some other creature attacking it? What the hell was going on last night?"

His partner and his superior attempted without much luck to answer his queries. It was soon clear that his curiosity would be no more satisfied than Dr. Zimmer's.

At least he could take comfort in the knowledge that he was not the only one ignorant of what had really occurred last night.

Dr. Zimmer proceeded to the next door, that of the break room, and gladly closed it behind him. Thus claiming a few moments' rest, he flipped the pages of his clipboard to the blank sheet and began composing a letter to his friend.

"Dear Doug," he wrote, "If you think that you've seen some things in your Chicago ER, you should just try spending a night here in Cascade..."


End file.
